


Dress Me Up

by AllthePainofChemicalDays



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - Heathens (Music Video), Alternate Universe - Prison, Dark, Experimentation, Heathens, I'm Sorry, M/M, Metahumans, Tags May Change, bad things happen, great right?, he sings and people die, not nice people, supernatural is known, tyler is a siren
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 15:38:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7469274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllthePainofChemicalDays/pseuds/AllthePainofChemicalDays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyler is a siren...he goes to prison...bad things happen</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How did I get here?

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Twenty One Pilots and I don't own their video or Suicide Squad...there's just some elements of it in this  
> Title from 1st chapter is Panic! at the Disco-Emperor's New Clothes

    He woke up in the back of a SWAT van, with handcuffs cutting off circulation in his hands. There were five cops sitting on the benches around him, all with weapons subtly trained on him. He cleared his throat and went to speak, but realized he couldn’t. They’d put a type of muzzle on him. He didn’t realize they found him that dangerous.

    Some said his voice resembled a siren, when he spoke, or rather sang, you couldn’t help but listen and do whatever he asked. He wasn’t evil, he knew that. But society saw the entire community of supernaturally-endowed as scum of the earth. He couldn’t help what he’d been born as. He couldn’t help that with just his voice, he’d led dozens of men to their deaths.

    He smirked to himself, and stared down a young looking agent. The young man squirmed under his gaze, and looked to his superior for help. The Sergeant was a gnarled older man, a permanent scowl drawn across his face. He pointed his gun at their prisoner’s leg.

    “Quit it, Joseph” He widened his eyes, feigning innocence. The Sergeant huffed and knocked shoulders with the kid. “Ignore him, Johnson. He can’t do anything with his mouth shut. And where he’s going, he’ll never hurt anyone ever again.” The kid looked doubtful but nodded and went back to looking at the floor of the van.

    The prisoner glared at the older man and leaned back on the bench. He tested the handcuffs again, relishing in the feel of the cold metal on his skin. Without the muzzle, he could be out of them in seconds, but with…well, he’d just have to bide his time until an opportunity presented itself.

…--…

    He was ushered through processing at a prison few knew about. ‘Belle Reve’, was anything but a beautiful dream. They took everything he had on him and gave him an orange jumpsuit with the name of the prison on the back. Never once did they touch the muzzle gagging him. The uniform felt like it’d been soaked in starch and smelled faintly of iron. A suspicious rust-colored stain spread out on the chest, but the prisoner decided to ignore it.

    Two guards at least a head taller, with fifty pounds on him led him through the prison. He soon noticed that everyone who made contact with him had earplugs in. His songs would do nothing here. No one spoke a word to him, and he had a sneaking suspicion that his arrest would not be broadcast on television. He doubted he would ever have a trial. That sort of thing didn’t happen to metahumans who had done what he’d done. He didn’t deserve a trial, and besides too much publicity could turn into attempts on his life.

    Down two flights of stairs, and a maze of hallways, they arrived at his cellblock. The guards pushed him down a dimly lit hall with cells on either side. All conversation stopped when the outer gate was opened by a guard in a small booth. Scarred and tattooed hands gripped the bars as the new prisoner was pushed towards his cell. His door was opened and his cuffs were unlocked before he was shoved in. The guards locked him in and left. As soon as the gate clanged shut, the other prisoners started whispering about the strange kid with the muzzle. A man with tattoos covering his face, yelled at him from across the way.

    “Hey, what’s your deal kid?” Joseph rolled his eyes and pointed at the muzzle covering the lower half of his face. The man furrowed his brow sympathetically. “Is it locked?”

    Joseph shrugged and reached behind his head and felt leather. There were straps keeping the muzzle in place. He undid them and pulled the ugly thing off his face. He swallowed and hummed.

    “Glad that’s off. I’m Tyler Joseph. Who are you and where am I?” The man laughed.

    “I’m Diablo and you’re in Hell.”

…--…

    Tyler’s first night passed without incident. He had arrived late, so he’d missed dinner. He curled up on his bunk, stomach growling and looked at all the carvings in the wall left behind by past metahumans. He wondered what happened to them. The prison seemed to be close to a body of water, as there was a chill in the room and droplets of water dripped from the ceiling next to his head. He ran a finger over the scratches.

_‘Dont let them break you’_

_‘I didnt do it’_

_‘Im afraid’_

_‘Please dont forget’_

    Sudden tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He closed them and sniffed. He belonged here. He deserved it. He’d killed the only thing he’d ever loved. Tyler Joseph had killed his Sun.


	2. Not Long Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tyler meets some people

    Tyler woke to the crackling of an intercom. A gravelly voice spoke from all around him. He looked around, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. It had been hours before he had fallen asleep the night before.  

    “Alright wakey wakey prisoners. It is a lovely morning here in Belle Reve with a cool temperature of sixty-eight degrees with a one hundred percent chance of rain. Cloudy all day folks, not that any of you will be stepping outside. At least not for the next fifty years!” The disembodied voice laughed, then trailed into a cough. “Breakfast in five minutes. Arms behind your backs and face the wall. You know the drill,” Tyler shivered and sat up on his bunk, he felt the chill in the air. The voice, a guard most likely, was mocking them. He wondered if this was what every morning from now on would be like. As if he had read his mind, Diablo winked at him. For all Tyler knew, he could.

    He stood and put his hands behind his back, turning to face the grimy wall of his cell. All the doors on the cellblock simultaneously opened, and two sets of heavy footsteps walked down the hall. Tyler felt mounting anxiety building in his chest, his heart threatening to climb out his throat. His fingers twitched. The sounds came to a stop just outside his cell. He closed his eyes. Should he try? No, they were prepared. This place wasn’t a normal prison. They knew how to handle _things_ like him.

    “Go on runt.” The low voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned around and saw a different pair of guards than the ones who led him in the night before. One was smirking at him, a dark hunger in his eyes. Tyler didn’t like what he saw. Other inmates were already walking down the hall, towards the chow hall? Tyler didn’t know and he didn’t care, he just wanted to be away from these men who were taller and bigger and stronger than him. He ducked his head and went to step around the one with the smirk, but a hand on his chest stopped him.

    “Wha-“

    “I said, ‘ _go on runt’_. I didn’t say you could leave,” The man laughed. His partner glanced at him with a strange look but didn’t say anything. “You’re the one with the poison tongue right? You killed your little lover boy and now you’re paying the price.” He continued coldly.

    “Um-that was an accident. I-I didn’t me-mean to hurt him,” Tyler protested.

    “Sure you didn’t kid. Now, go on and join the others. It’s time for breakfast,” The partner finally spoke up, and Tyler darted past the two. He kept his head lowered and stayed on the edge of the group, hands twisting in his jumpsuit. He flinched when Diablo fell into step with him. The man was an imposing figure if he were being honest.

    “You look like a smart kid, so I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. The guards? They like fucking with us. Especially newcomers and people who look weak. And you look weak. Now, you’re probably thinking that one day, one of them will mess up and not wear his earplugs right? That you’ll be able to sing your way to freedom. Well, little songbird, these men are the best of the best. They are assassins and soldiers, and they will not hesitate to knock you down. You were lucky back there. Marcello? He’s a sadist. You’re lucky Clark was working a shift today. You’re damn lucky songbird.” They reached a larger room with benches and tables. A line was forming in front of a long bar, with people dressed in white. This must be the chow hall. Tyler looked around, taking in the layout. The tables were already filling up. It looked almost like a seating arrangement but he knew it was more of an allegiance. The groups probably formed from the different powers they possessed. Tyler wondered where that put him.

    “Why are you telling me this?” He asked nervously, looking up at the taller man beside him.

    “I’d hate to see such a pretty face all scarred up,” Diablo winked at him and Tyler blushed and looked away. He picked up a plastic tray and a server dumped a suspiciously greyish-brown glob onto it. He continued down the line, picking up a stale roll and a carton of milk before grabbing a spork and turning to look at the room. Nowhere to hide.

    A hand clapped down onto his shoulder. “Come on little songbird,” Diablo walked over to a half full table. Tyler, not having any other options, followed him. He sat down next to his friend(?). The other men stopped talking, and nervously, Tyler bit into his roll. Diablo spread his hands out on the table. “This is the Bone Collector, Spider, G, Deviant, and the Mad Hatter. Men, this is Songbird.” They all looked at him. Tyler nodded and gripped his spork with white-knuckled fingers. His friend laughed loudly and that seemed to break the ice. The men went back to eating and talking.

    Diablo elbowed him in the side, “You’ll be fine now. You’re good with them.”

    “What does that mean?” Tyler asked.

    “It means they won’t take you or sell you out.” Diablo grew serious, narrowing his eyes, “I can’t say the same for anyone else.”

    “Oh”

     Oh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback's appreciated! :)


End file.
